Category: Tuesdays

Hoptopia; A World of Agriculture and Beer in Oregon’s Wilamette Valley by Peter A. Kopp

“With expanding acreages by midcentury, growers needed a labor pool from which to draw workers. It was at this moment that larger operations in New York adopted the European, and particularly the English, model of hop-labor recruitment and the treatment f hired help. The labor of women and children from urban areas became important, since farms or factories in the industrializing towns mostly commanded the labor of men” (57).

“Throughout the 1920s, the Willamette Valley hopyards took on a new meaning. By no means was nonwhite labor excluded, but the increasing presence of urban white families harked back to London and Kent in the early 1800s. The hop picking time became an occasion to cut ties with the city. Conversely, the hop harvest connected the city once again to the rural countryside. In an era before the proliferation of summer camps, children had opportunities for new friendships and entertainment” (109).

 

These two quotes were interesting to me as I had never thought of agricultural labor as something seen as enjoyable or done primarily by women and children. While the two quotes juxtapose East Coast versus West Coast hop harvest cultures, I think they exemplify an overall trend of the importance of women and children as hop-pickers. Its also interesting that families would come a pick hops as a sort of quasi vacation. Not only was it enjoyable and almost festival-like, they were also paid to do this work. Because it was so predominantly urban whites seeking this kind of carnival-type vacation for pay, I wonder if this impacted labor standards and labor abuses. While child labor laws have been passed, agricultural work is actually excluded from those laws. I wonder if there were labor abuses at all or if, because these were generally middle class, white women and children or families if that had sway on how the workers were treated and if they had safe/fair pay, housing, and working conditions.

Kopp kind of touches on this with sociologist Annie Marion MacLean’s account of hop picking in the Willamette Valley (51-53), talking briefly about the omissions from her work. “But there were also glaring omissions from her work. Most notably, MacLean failed to comment on issues of racial and ethnic diversity or poor working and living conditions. These oversights might have reflected an emphasis on women workers, or perhaps, an experience that lacked cultural diversity and social tension. The absence of these themes at least provides an avenue to investigate the multiple meanings of the harvest, which is the most remembered and celebrated aspect of the Willamette Valley hop industry” (53).

This section was probably the most interesting and frustrating to me. So many agricultural workers have been and continue to be taken advantage of because they have little to no social clout—farm owners and overseers felt that they would take advantage of their workers because no one really cared about what was going on behind the scenes. Was it because these were white women and children that their experience was different than that of most agricultural workers? What was it about hops? Why was it so celebratory and beloved by those that did it rather than typical monotonous harvest work? Were there any experiences or accounts with the hop harvest (either in the Willamette Valley or beyond) that were not positive?

Letters to a Young Farmer, Stone Barns Center for Food & Agriculture

Dear Mrs. Barbara Kingsolver,

 

“Maybe you’ve even had to defend that choice already against family or academic advisors that don’t see the future in farming” (15).

I get this a lot from my mom especially, but everyone seems to have their two cents about me wanting to become a farmer. My mom left the family farm to find something better for herself, so I can understand where she is coming from. She grew up on a cattle and grain farm from in a tiny town—about 200 people total—in southern North Dakota.

It is ironic, however, that people seem to believe that there is no future in farming as farming is the past, present, and future. Without it, no one eats. It may not be glamorous or even easy most days, but we all need food. Farming and people willing to farm are absolutely essential to a future of any kind.

“Traditionally, farms passed down through generations, but at this point in history, that’s not likely to be your case. It will be up to you to find your farming family, people who can teach you how to make smart choices and forgive your own mistakes. You’ll meet long-timers at conferences, and, if you’re lucky, in your own neighborhood. Even if some of these old-schoolers have approaches that strike you as outmoded, they stayed on the land when everyone else was leaving, and for this they deserve respect” (16).

This quote struck a chord, as it is two-fold in many ways for me. I come from a farming background and I feel conflicted about it for a lot of reasons. On one hand, these are some of the most resilient and resourceful people I know, willing to help one another out on a whim’s notice. Further, they have a deep rootedness to the land they live and farm on. Yet, on the other, they utilize monocropping, pesticides, and massive machinery—things I just don’t think should be incorporated into our food system. But I really like you saying “Even if some of these old-schoolers have approaches that strike you as outmoded, they stayed on the land when everyone else was leaving, and for this they deserve respect” (16) because it is so true. They survived the 1980s, with massive farm foreclosures and farmer suicides, and they persevered. Their practices may not be what I think of as ideal, but they’ve managed to stay.

Further, I really wanted to get into farming because I come from a long line of farmers, but those considered the farmers were men. My male cousins, my uncles, my grandpa, my great-grandpa. Even though the female members of my family have always had gardens, they have never really been considered farmers the way the men have been. Instead they are seen as caretakers of children/elders or helpers of their husbands, growing food on the side for their families to eat while the crops the men grew went to market. I remember as a kid helping out in my grandma’s garden, growing tomatoes, watermelons, herbs, sweet corn, cucumbers, and flowers of every kind. While my grandpa was growing GMO corn using huge John Deere tractors, combines, and pesticide-spraying airplanes, she grew fairly low-tech and organically.

I got into farming because I really want to be able to pass down that familial legacy to my children and want to be able to learn more about my roots to the land in order to eventually go on to be more self-sufficient the way my female relatives have allowed my family to be for generations. It’s the women gardeners of my family that inspired me to want to farm.

 

 

Sincerely,

Allie Kuppenbender

 

The Cooking Gene by Michael W. Twitty

“I have often wondered whether white people who know we are kin actually see us as family. It’s critical to me to think about the possibilities of every Southern white family connected to African Americans on DNA tests truly reaching out and vice versa, to create a dialogue. Would we be better off if we embraced this complexity and dealt with our pain or shame? Would we finally be Americans or Southerners or both if we truly understood how impenetrably connected we actually are? Is it too late?” (Twitty, 116).

“Shifting cultivation, the uses of animal manure and ashes as fertilizer, using vegetable scraps to enhance a garden’s fertility, multiple turning of the soil, and the modeling of garden spaces after the plant communities of nature—all tips out of the permaculture handbook—came hand-in-hand with Africans in the South” (Twitty, 266-267).

 

Through these quotes, we can explore identities seen and unseen, known and unknown, acknowledged and unacknowledged. They alter how we view kinship, labor roles, and knowledge in a way I haven’t ever really thought of before. As someone who has lived her entire life in the northern states of the United States and has never really been to the South, this book was provoking for me on so many levels. Although it seems so blatantly obvious after reading this book, I’ve never really thought about the origins of comfort or soul or Southern food or how truly important they are to the identity of the Southerner, no matter black or white.

Influenced by many different African cuisines, cooking practices, foods, and flavors; Indigenous American practices as well as cultivated and foraged foods; and various European cuisines, cooking practices, and crops, Southern cooking occurred in a specific place at a specific time for a specific reason. And African Americans were absolutely paramount to the creation of it. (Twitty says on page 163 “…and you will understand how beautifully bewildering out heritage is, and why it was impossible to birth this cuisine anywhere else on the planet”). I never really thought about the importance of Southern food as an identity for African Americans, but it makes perfect sense. Food is something easily passed from generation to generation. It is a way to remember, honor, and stay connected to those before you. Even when there are little to no material goods to pass on, food endures and bines. Food is powerful and important and evocative. Slavery ripped away histories and cultures and familial connections to kin and land, but it couldn’t quite take away the memory of the food even as it evolved and adapted to the food available and the practices used.

For me, these quotes embody who gets to choose their identity and their legacy and who does not. Those with power have the ability to erase—erase either their own histories or erase the histories of those they oppress. With the first quote, this is clear in the unwillingness to acknowledge the literal connection (kinship) Southern white families have to black families. The connection is there, but it is too shameful for white folks to touch upon it or talk about it.

The second quote hit a different nerve in that this is also a component of the African American identity and history—one of skilled and knowledgeable farmers. This is the way agriculture is heading in the future, but it is by no means new—something many permaculture adherents neglect to mention. Yet again those in power have the ability to erase a history and identity.

For me, it comes back to the question: who do we think of as farmers and why? But even more so: who really grows our food? and who actually gets credit for growing our food? This is just as applicable today as it was in the antebellum Old South. Then, it was truly the enslaved African Americans with the knowledge and experience to grow and harvest the crops needed to sustain. Now, it is often migrant farmworkers that cultivate and harvest our food. Neither of these are the faces we tend to think of when asked who is a farmer but both have played a huge part in our food system over time and space. Why is that?

Even more so, this second quote goes beyond African Americans having a role in the food system—these practices shows a deep knowledge and connection to the land that goes beyond commodification or profit margins. These farming practices take into account a reverence, respect, and understanding of the balance farming should seek to maintain. This type of farming is not the same as monocropping a cash crop, and it is important it is not erased. Permaculture is not a new trend or fad, and there needs to be credit where credit is due.

 

 

SOURCES:

Twitty, Michael W. The Cooking Gene; A Journey Through African American Culinary History in the Old South. Harper Collins, 2017.

Restoring Heritage Grains by Eli Rogosa

“Although traditional farmers worldwide still grow, save, and improve their own seed, US farmers have abdicated their seed to ‘professionals.’ Public-university breeding programs, which have introduced many locally adapted cultivars until late in the twentieth century, have almost disappeared, replaced by genetic research funded by corporations that patent the seed. A series of consolidations has rocked the seed industry, reducing the players to a small handful” (Rogosa, 36).

“The Talmud documents a society that elevated growing food into a sacred practice…. Ancient Israelites believed that soil fertility was based on food justice…. The ancient Israelis believe that the earth—a living, conscious being—would be fruitful as long as the farmers nourished the community, the poor, widows, and orphans; that by feeding the people—all the people—the earth would provide its bounty” (Rogosa, 130-131).

 

Outside the system of capitalism, most humans existed on a communalist system which necessitates everyone be fed as it is a basic human right. It seems like a crazy thing to envision today—a food system that sees farming as sacred and inherently equity oriented—but it was commonplace in the past. How did we get to where we are today—agribusinesses producing food through mechanization and petro-chemicals, with little to no regard for the land underfoot? These two quotes show the divide between ancient and modern farming (at least in the US, but also elsewhere). They truly epitomize the degree to which farming has been removed from the land and the community, replaced with mechanization, petrochemicals, and commodification. Contemporary seed companies, with their dependence on petroleum-based fertilizers and their patents on their seeds, mark a clear delineation from the ancient Israeli process of farming as a “sacred practice.” These companies see the seeds they sell as a product and by commodifying the seed they too commodify life. There is the question of choice though. How much autonomy do farmers have these days? Where is it illegal in the US and beyond to save seed? This is why I would want to know more about Rogosa’s choice of the word abdicated in the quote above (“…US farmers have abdicated their seed to ‘professionals.’ …”). Did they abdicate their seeds or was their ability (and the knowledge) to save seed taken from them or the generations before, making them dependent on seed companies to be able to grow wheat?

Contrast that to the ancient Israeli practice on farming as sacred and as an act of food justice, something I was not aware of but am not surprised about. In this system, the farmer attempts to meet all needs; everyone is fed regardless of social status and this is because soil fertility is maintained. You can’t have one without the other. According to Just Food, a non-profit organization in New York City, “Food Justice is communities exercising their right to grow, sell, and eat healthy food. Healthy food is fresh, nutritious, affordable, culturally-appropriate, and grown locally with care for the well-being of the land, workers, and animals. People practicing food justice leads to a strong local food system, self-reliant communities, and a healthy environment.” Using this definition, it is clear food justice is community-centered, focusing on the needs of the community to ensure a just and equitable system is put into place that benefits all. I would argue that “all” should include the soil. Without a healthy and alive soil, plants will be weak and unhealthy—deficient of nutrients and minerals necessary to vitality.

Community activists seeking food justice in their communities should see seed sovereignty and soil fertility as a way to achieve food justice. Saving seed is a revolutionary act, putting control of the seed (and thus the subsequent crop) back into the hands of those growing it. Saving seed allows farmers an alternative to buying seed that is homogenous, addicted to petroleum-based fertilizers, and a commodity. Not only will seed saving aid the community, it will also aid the soil. Saving seed and growing organically will overtime revitalize the soil health, eventually boosting the crop’s nutrition and the next generation seed’s adaptability.

 

Some questions to think about:

How does wheat compare/contrast to corn? Is wheat as big of an identity as corn is for many Indigenous in the Americas? Has NAFTA/WTO come into effect with wheat and Indigenous farmers in the same way it has affected Indigenous corn and farming as a whole in Oaxaca and other regions of Mexico? I am really interested in how wheat is/is not like corn, which is a sacred being to many Indigenous Americans. With that second quote (“…farming as sacred…”) it is clear to me that wheat used to be sacred but clearly with seed companies monopolizing access to seed (“…many locally adapted cultivars until late in the twentieth century, have almost disappeared, replaced by genetic research funded by corporations that patent the seed…”) it is no longer sacred. When was that sacredness lost? I learned wheat was sacred in a way similar to corn once long ago, but I have many questions about how we got from that point to where we are now.

 

 

SOURCES:

Rogosa, Eli. Restoring Heritage Grains; The Culture, Biodiversity, Resilience, and Cuisine of Ancient Grains. Chelsea Green Publishing, 2016.

Shiva, Vandana, editor. Seed Sovereignty, Food Security; Women in the Vanguard of the Fight Against GMOs and Corporate Agriculture. North Atlantic Books, 2016.

WHAT IS FOOD JUSTICE?. Just Food, 2010. http://justfood.org/advocacy/what-is-food-justice. Accessed 17 Jan 2018.